


(f)hated

by distractionpie



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (not related to a canon character), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Case Fic, Enemies to Lovers, Hankvin Week, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, TBA - Freeform, Terrorism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-09-12 19:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractionpie/pseuds/distractionpie
Summary: Some people think having the names of your soul-mate and your greatest enemy written on your wrists is a blessing. Gavin isn't so sure.Having found his enemy young, Gavin's excited when an unwanted case turns out to come with a lead that might lead to him meeting the soul-mate he's been waiting for, but as the investigation spirals out of control, Gavin is forced to second guess everything he thought he knew about his destiny.





	1. Chapter 1

The names were a blessing or a curse, depending on who you asked.

For Gavin Reed, curse was the favoured conclusion.

When he was young, he’d fantasised about meeting both of the people written on his wrists, the exciting adventures of battling his fated enemy and sweeping his soul-mate off their feet, possibly at the same time like a perfect Hollywood action hero.

At 37 though, his soul-mate is nowhere to be seen and his enemy just ignores him.

He’d learned long ago that it wasn’t all as glamorous as the stories told to kids, that even soul-mates had to work if they wanted a relationship to succeed and that destined enemies were more likely to political rivals or people that accidentally rear-ended your car and left you in a wheelchair than somebody who’d sword fight you on top of a moving train.

He’s gotten used to disappointment.

There’d been all of the usual shit that wore a person down from their childhood dreams, endless parental screaming matches and being a pawn in vicious divorce, a crashing economy and teachers who said to ‘be realistic’ and meant ‘aim lower’, shitty girlfriends and shitty boyfriends and plain old shitty friends, and being tossed sink or swim into adulthood with only a bunch of wildly unrealistic media to guide him.

But he’d been getting on okay.

He’d managed to scrape enough money together to get an apartment (completely shitty but completely free of obnoxious roommates), worked his ass off to get into the police academy, and was sitting securely in the top third of his class and climbing higher with every overachiever who burnt-out and snowflake who couldn’t take the heat of competition.

Then Gavin had been jogging from the gym to grab a coffee before his next seminar and seen _him_.

Tall, broad-shouldered, sharp eyed, and wearing the DPD uniform like it had been designed with him in mind. _That_ was what Gavin wanted, to be but also to have, the embodiment of everything a cop should look like, walking tall like he was used to have every eye in the room admiring him, like he was entitled to it.

He was perfect.

How in the hell could Gavin have ever looked down enough to have noticed the trailing cables in the hall —even if they were neon yellow and black and there was a hazard sign propped in front of them— when there was the option of looking up at _him_?

Gavin had gone flying, not a stumble or a stagger he could brush off but a full-on ass-over-elbows fall that sent him crashing to the ground at perfect-cop’s feet in a linoleum-eating sprawl.

And perfect-cop laughed, loud enough that other people —people who hadn’t witnessed Gavin’s fuck-up, who _didn_ _’t need to know_ — turned to see what the fuss was about. Then he’d said, “Fuck, didn’t realise they’d dropped the bar so low you don’t even have to pass a sight test anymore,” as if Gavin hadn’t worked his ass off to pass the gruelling academy entry exams, “Guess at least if you can’t see I won’t have to worry about you reading enough of my plates for you to give me a ticket when they finally put you on traffic if you can’t even see a hazard sign three feet in front of you though.”

And then _everybody_ had laughed and Gavin had felt shame coil in his guts, so hot and twisted that he thought he might hurl on the spot.

The cop he’d run into had reached out and hand and Gavin had reared back, scrambling to his feet with a defiant scowl. He didn’t need help, wasn’t going to hand the guy an opening to mock him further, he could already hear the words in his mind, taunts about weaklings who needed their hands holding or how could he expect to take down a perp if he couldn’t even manage to get his own ass of the ground.

A thousand words were crowded behind his lips, but Gavin wasn’t stupid, the only thing that would tank his career before it had even started worse than making an ass of himself in front of a superior officer and then being made a fool of in front of what felt like half the academy would be shooting his mouth off right now. He’d shoved his hands in his pockets and fled.

The next few days had been torture, smirks and snickers from his classmates, conversations broken off as he grew near that made it very clear his classmates were mocking him but Gavin grit his teeth and ignored them all and then Hernandez had gotten a leg tangled on the obstacle course and been left hanging upside down for ten minutes before the instructor finally realised that he wasn’t going to be able to get himself out of and went over to help and Gavin’s disgrace was forgotten — at least, by everybody but himself.

And then, a few weeks later, a guest had come to give a lecture on red-ice and their usual instructor had introduced him to the class head of the red-ice task-force, pride of the DPD, youngest Lieutenant in Detroit history, and the same officer who’d so soundly humiliated Gavin in the halls not so long ago - Hank Anderson.

Gavin hadn’t heard a word after that, clutching at his left wrist and staring up against the man whose name was emblazoned across the skin.

He’d skipped the class after, gone out and got so hammered he didn’t actually remember how he’d made it back to his apartment, woke up the next morning on his bathroom floor with puke in the basin (partial credit to drunk Gavin, at least the fucked up bastard had tried to aim somewhere sensible) and stared down at the name on his arm until the roiling mess of feelings in his chest coalesced into simple, pure rage.

So, Hank Anderson was his enemy? Well look out Lieutenant, because Gavin had no intention of being an easy opponent. If his superior officer thought that he could hold back Gavin’s career he was going to have a hell of a fight on his hands and Gavin swore to himself, right there on the grimy floor of his first shitty apartment, that one people would be talking about Gavin Reed as DPD’s finest and Anderson’s name would be all but forgotten, some shitty red-ice task force like traffic cop shit next to what Gavin would achieve.

Fifteen years later, he’d still be clawing his way up the ranks, knowing by the words on his wrist that every shitty assignment and unfair disciplinary could surely be traced back to Anderson, coasting on his former glory and using his friendship with senior officers to poison them against Gavin. And even though nobody could rightly say that Anderson was a better cop than Gavin (not that they didn’t try) there wasn’t a lot of satisfaction in knowing that he hadn’t triumphed via skill or brains or determination but because some shitty auto-car had plowed into the side of Anderson’s vehicle and Anderson had lost his son to a botched surgery and himself to the bottom of a bottle.

And then the android shit-show had kicked off. Fucking androids. Maybe they were more alive than the fucking humanoid roombas they’d once been treated as, but they weren’t people, people had soul-mates —people had _souls_ — and androids lived a bland, blank wristed existence. But at the end of it all Anderson had a shiny new plastic partner and everyone was falling at his feet as if he hadn’t spent the last few years as a disgrace to his badge, and the worst of it was that somewhere in the process Anderson had gone and got it into his alcohol soaked brain that he was too good to give Gavin the time of day anymore, brushing off every attempt to rile him, not even bothering to look up when Gavin hissed out reminders that all his restored glory came from riding the coattails of a plastic prick and letting it slide when Gavin made a point of butting his nose into Anderson’s cases even when he had plenty of his own work to be getting on with.

Being ignored by him is even more infuriating than having him constantly slacking around the precinct, but Gavin still hasn’t given up. It might have been years since the vow he made in the academy, but Gavin had never been the forgive or forget type and no matter how avoidant he is, one day Anderson is going to see.

One day, Gavin is going to show him.


	2. Chapter 2

 

The only comfort Gavin has is the name on his other wrist.

Alexis Fuller.

For years it has been his one dwindling hope — that fate would grant him a better soul-mate than it had an enemy. That Alexis would be somebody who’d drive him, challenge him, who’d see everything that Gavin was going to be if life would just stop fucking him over and be right there by his side working towards it too.

Of course, since life was in the habit of fucking Gavin over, he’d probably be one of those unlucky bastards who didn’t meet their soul-mate until they were ninety. And the knowledge that such a fate would mean leaving to ninety was an oddly feeble restitution.

Gavin hasn’t had much time to dwell on the prospect lately, not when he’d been commandeered from homicide as part of the all-hands on deck efforts following the bombings.

Well, almost all hands on deck. Anderson and his plastic partner have been given a free pass to keep focusing on android cases, because for some reason Fowler has lost his mind and thinks that’s a higher priority than murder. Probably just all too aware that if Anderson is brought into the bombing cases it’ll only be a matter of time before somebody realises the old bastard is washed up and should have been canned long ago if not for Fowler’s nepotism protecting him.

So Anderson gets to sit pretty on nice simple cases of reminding people that breaking their robot toys is a crime now, meanwhile Gavin gets pulled off casework that could help progress his career to chase dead-end leads on behalf of the feds and the jumped-up morons on the anti-terror task force.

The bombings make his teeth ache.

And they’re senseless. There’s no pattern to the targets; the methodology is all over the place, with the techs claiming a different improvised set up is used every time; and, so far, the worst they’ve actually done is some moderate property damage that wouldn’t even be worthy of attention if the method were anything other than explosives. Nobody has  been hurt, let alone killed, but the constant knowledge that at any point the bomber could chose to target somewhere populated and there was nothing the DPD could do was infuriating; and even worse is the prospect that if people get a little too used to the bombings, and the way Detroit had responded to the android uprising was proof that the people in this city rolled with bullshit way too easily, somebody is gonna hurt because of a lacklustre response to an evacuation order.

And of course, nobody can forget the worrying possibility that everything they’ve dealt with so far is just their bomber refining their technique so that they can have the biggest impact when they make their real move.

It feels like he hasn't seen sunlight in forever, arriving at the precinct before the sun rises and leaving long after it has set which was bearable when got out to investigate during the day but now he's chained to his desk going through the stacks of paperwork a big case like this generates —what seems like six forms and three follow ups for every fleck of dust found at a crime scene— is hell. Normally, Gavin is pretty good at paperwork, has his technique all figured out so he can dash off a full report in fifteen minutes flat and get back to investigating, no bullshit, but the only reward for getting these done is having more heaped onto him.

Honestly, it’s like some fucking analyst has decided everybody who has ever bought a battery in Detroit is a potential suspect and Gavin is getting sick of having to investigate people who turn out to be total dead ends — who should have obviously been dismissed from the start because their only connection to the cases is that their mother’s ex-boyfriend’s cousin’s dog-sitter once worked in the bombed building and they got a B in high school chemistry.

He wouldn’t be surprised if they’re just making up busy work for him to keep him from getting his hands on real cases and actually doing anything to progress his career. Fuck knows Fowler has it in for him.

With a flick of his finger he marks the records of yet another person of interest as followed up on with no leads and pulls up the next file on the world’s longest shortlist.

Alexis Fuller.

Gavin drops the tablet.

The thing about DPD standard issue tech is that it’s mostly slow a shit, but it is comfortably sturdy and suited to hard use in the field, so when Gavin picks the tablet back up it’s still all in one piece and showing the file.

Gavin scrolls.

For a soul-mate, Alexis Fuller is nothing like Gavin’s type.

Twenty-five and baby-faced at that. The file has him at around 5”7 and barely scraping 130 pounds. Gavin flips through the pages, frown deepening as he reads a list of the guy’s movements — a regular churchgoer and amateur gardener, this is Gavin’s soul-mate, really?

Also, he’s on a list of possible terrorists.

Gavin’s made some questionable relationship choices in his time, but terrorists are definitely a hard no.

There’s got to be some sort of mistake here. If he hadn’t already found his enemy, maybe this would be confusing, but clearly Fuller is just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe this will be Gavin’s moment and for once instead of life fucking him over he’ll actually get the movie-style romance he used to dream of, sweeping in to clear his soul-mate’s name, what a sure-fire way to make sure the guy adored him forever, getting somebody who would actually appreciate him like a goddamn hero for once and being able to rub it in the smug faces of everyone around him.

Of course, strictly speaking, regulations say that he should recuse himself from the case if he suspected the involvement of either of the people named on his wrist, but privacy laws also mean that nobody in the department knows what those names are since it’s forbidden to require disclosure, and since Gavin has spent the last few years working in the same department as his universe-confirmed greatest enemy he figures this really isn’t any different. Fuck, knowing how things are if he did try and quit the task-force because of having Fuller’s name there were certain co-workers who’d work triply hard to see Fuller framed for the bombings just to fuck with Gavin.

Fuck, what a way to find his soul-mate.

And sure, Gavin isn’t usually into weedy young guys, normally likes somebody he can throw his weight around with without worry, somebody who can push back and mean it, but this is his soul-mate and surely even he can’t be so unlucky that the universe would get it wrong?


	3. Chapter 3

Gavin skips over the Fuller file in the end, copying it to a thumb drive to investigate on his own time. There’s so much going on with the bombing cases that it’s not like anybody is going to notice and Gavin wants to know more before he moves Fuller’s file through the system. Sure, he’s confident he’s going to dismiss the guy as a suspect but once he does that Gavin will have no reason to look into him and Gavin wants —needs— to know more about his soul-mate so that he can ensure that when they meet it’s perfect.

His trawl of data isn’t exactly inspiring though.

Fuller’s social media suggests that he’s only ever dated women before and, with a blatantly male name for a soul-mate presumably Fuller must be aware of his attraction to men. So, a closet case then. Gavin hasn’t been involved with one of those since high school and at the time he’d sworn never again. Is he going to have to reassess that now, if he wants to build a relationship with his soul-mate, or will meeting him be the thing that finally makes Fuller ready to come out? Fuck, he hopes he doesn’t end up being Fuller’s single gay exception. He’s got no problem with bi guys but if Fuller has only ever been into women but is making an exception for Gavin because the universe says so then Gavin can already tell he’s going to spend the whole time wondering if Fuller is really attracted to him or just going along with it because the universe has decided that they’re soul-mates for some other reason.

Kicking back in his chair, Gavin glares at his computer. He wanted this to be perfect, but he doesn’t know how to make it perfect when the match seems so odd. How is he supposed to have anything even like what he dreamed of when the man in this file is so far from what he’d expected.

Gavin has always taken the stance that if things don’t start out right for him he’ll make them so, and he’s not giving up on this without a fight. He’s always hated being trapped at his desk and reading about his soul-mate is just making him more agitated by the prospect of finally getting what he’s been waiting his whole life for and all the ways it could go wrong.

But the file contains Fuller’s address.

And Gavin has always enjoyed being out and investigating on location.

Some people would probably say using the privileges of his job to track down his soul-mate before they’ve even met is wrong. But that’s why Gavin is going to be successful and those people are probably all losers.

He’s due a lunch break soon anyway and since he’s on desk duty he’s got a bit more flexibility about when he takes than he usually does so he clicks out of Fuller’s file and puts his computer to sleep, deciding that the best thing to do with this situation is act.

The address in the file isn’t too far from the precinct and traffic is okay. As he drives, he tries to muster up some of the excitement he always thought he’d feel about finding his soul-mate, but it’s like trying to inflate a punctured balloon — for a moment or two he feels like he’s getting somewhere but it all comes crashing down the minute he stops actively forcing it.

Fuller just seems… boring. Trying to work out how this guy is his soul-mate, other than the universe fucking with him, makes Gavin’s head hurt. He leans back in his seat, yanking up his sleeve and unbuckling the wrist guard to look at the name there. Alexis Fuller — plain and clear, just as it has been since the day the names manifested. It could be a different Alexis Fuller, there’s been more than a few shitty rom-coms along those lines over the years and it’s not at unusual of a name, but there’s a straightforward way to check.

After all, there are probably other Alexis Fuller’s out there, but there’s unlikely to be two with the exact same writing and if Gavin tracks him down maybe he can find the confirmation he needs to be sure that this is his guy before that all important first meeting.

Gavin is trying to stay calm as he parks his car outside of Fuller’s apartment building, first buzzing his soul-mates apartment waiting for the non-answer that assures him that Fuller is out, then buzzing the neighbours until he finds somebody willing to let him in.

Fuller’s apartment is on the third floor and, although Gavin was ready to pick it, when he tries the handle the door is unlocked. With the opportunity right in front of him though, Gavin hesitates. He’s edging a toe over the line here, he enjoys the power being a cop gives him, but he doesn’t actually want to abuse it. It wouldn’t be illegal exactly, Gavin could argue that the unlocked door is an inherent cause for concern given the security risks is presents, but it would be wrong to enter.

Then he thinks about meeting his soul-mate and it going wrong, of Fuller just joining the ranks of people who sneer at him and dismiss him an ass-hole just because he’s working his ass off for a better life than the one people keep trying to get him to settle for, just because he’s not naive enough to play their dumb games of pretending to be nice even though everybody knows the only way to the top is climbing over everybody else who is trying to get there. No. Maybe it’s… less than ideal, but it’ll work out alright in the end. He’s not going to do anything weird, just find a handwriting sample to check and maybe a few more details about Fuller so Gavin can make sure he nails that first impression and he’ll be back out of there without anybody being any the wiser.

He opens the door.

It’s dim in the hallway, the only reason Gavin can see is because there’s a little light creeping in under a half open door down the hall, but he doesn’t want to switch a light on and risk getting caught, just slips through the first door onto the left into what turns out to be a plain looking sitting room.

He’ll keep this to a minimum, he promises himself. Find what he needs and get out, no matter how tempting a more in-depth exploration is. It wouldn’t be good to learn too much, after all that would just create the risk of him slipping up after they meet and revealing he knows more than he has any good excuse to.

A glance around doesn’t tell him much about Fuller, just reinforced his idea that the man is boring. The place is clean and neat, practically kitted out with a lot of ikea-looking stuff, but there’s nothing that hints at his personality, no art or movie posters or old-school hard-copy media collection. Fuck, there’s not even a TV that Gavin could turn on to see what the last channel the man watched was. But that’s okay, he assures himself. Maybe Fuller just streams everything, just carries a tablet with him and always watches on the small screen. Maybe Fuller is just hardcore into minimalism which could make things difficult when Gavin moves in with his soul-mate but doesn’t have to be bad.

It feels bad though.

This place is cold and depressing.

He’d always figured there’d be a little spark in his first impression of his soul-mate, but maybe it’s just because he’s working from a file and snooping around the guy’s apartment and the chemistry will come when they actually meet.

It has to, right? After all, Fuller is his soul-mate.

It doesn’t take much snooping around for Gavin to find a note book, checking the handwriting inside against that on his right wrist. It looks right, the shapes of the letters and the gentle slant the same, but it’s not enough to be sure. There must be something here that Fuller has signed his name to. Something that Gavin can use as absolute proof that it’s this man who’s writing he’s started at and wondered about for years.

Nothing out looks helpful and Gavin could try one of the other rooms but now he’s in here the wrongness of it just makes him want to get out, but it would be stupid to go this far and quit without getting what he came for so he goes over to the cabinet in the corner of the room, making a quick search of the drawers.

It’s mostly junk: bills, political flyers, a few take-out menus that reassure him that Fuller mustn’t be quiet as uptight as he seems to be, and a passport.

Score.

He flips through to the page and the signature looks right, looks so right that Gavin’s heart is hammering in his chest but he needs to be certain so he lifts it, holding the paper beside his arm.

The handwriting matches.

And, with a click, a gun cocks inches from Gavin’s head.

“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice says from behind Gavin, quiet, cool, and calm.

Fuck. How had he gotten so caught up in thinking about his soul-mate that he hadn’t even noticed being approached.

Gavin takes a deep breath, pressing down the adrenaline that had flooded him when he recognised the sound of the gun. There was no need to panic. Anybody might pull a firearm if they found a stranger in their home, Gavin certainly would, and sure, Fuller hadn’t been registered as owning any sort of weapon but maybe it’s not him. And even if it is, unlicensed firearm ownership isn’t _that_ bad, maybe the guy is just a libertarian.

“DPD,” he identifies himself calmly, he’s not a burglar and the guy can put the gun down. “Detective Gavin Reed. Put the gun down and I can show you my badge.”

“Oh. Good,” the voice behind him says quietly, which would be reassuring if not for the fact he doesn’t lower the gun even an inch. “I thought I’d have to find you.”

That’s good right? That his soul-mate, because Gavin is fairly sure it must be Fuller, recognises his name and has apparently been thinking about finding him. Sure, trespassing in the guy’s apartment and having a gun pulled on him isn’t an ideal first impression, but who knows, perhaps it will become a funny story that they share?

It’s hard to think of laughter though, when Fuller still has the gun aimed at Gavin’s head.

“Well, you’ve found me,” Gavin says, keeping his voice calm and agreeable, the well-practised but rarely used negotiator voice he’d been taught back in his academy days. These days Gavin prefers methods other than negotiation but none of those are available to him now, now when if he startles Fuller by acting he could end up with a bullet in his skull without the other man even meaning to do it.

“Yes,” Fuller says. “Although I suppose this means I’ll have to move up the time line.”

What time line? Sure, Fuller could be talking about some grand romantic soul-mate charming plan like the one Gavin has been toying with, but that seems a little at odds with the fact he’s still not lowered the goddamn gun.

But in the very edge of his vision Gavin can see the gun move and has just enough time to let out a soft breath of relief before it comes crashing back down into the side of his skull and everything goes black.


	4. Chapter 4

Gavin comes to tied to a chair.

Of course he fucking does.

Why would life give him something pleasant like finally tracking down his soul-mate without finding a way to fuck it up?

It could be worse, the knots are tight but the chair is the same flimsy flat pack build quality as the furniture he’d seen in the sitting room and Gavin had been shouted at by his mom for damaging the furniture enough times growing up to be confident that this shit shouldn’t be hard to break.

If only he was alone.

Fuller stands in front of him, face familiar from the photographs in his file, frowning down at a table he’s holding.

Holding in hands attached to bare wrists, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

Gavin stares.

The angle isn’t great but it’s enough to see that on one is written ‘Joanne Cartwright’; while the other bears two names in neatly stacked scrawls and one of them is Gavin’s own.

Both wrists are marred by scars, although the ones on the right wrist slash through the two names there whereas Cartwright’s name has been avoided with a precision that Gavin is almost certain is deliberate.

It’s the other name on Fuller’s wrist that has grabbed his attention though.

‘Hank Anderson’ written in all too familiar penmanship.

What the fuck?

That is not how soul-mates work. Some people have multiple enemies, those relationships are complicated, but soul-mates were always straightforward reciprocal matches.

Something is very wrong here.

Could one of the names on Fuller’s wrist be a tattoo? It’s a horrifying thought but Gavin has heard stories of twisted motherfuckers who tried to fraudulently impersonate somebody’s soul-mate — thought that usually involved getting their natural name covered up.

If the abomination in front of him is true, if Anderson is his enemy because the universe has assigned them a shared soul-mate and plans for them to fight over him… the wave of nausea that sends though Gavin is far worse than any of his feelings about his present physical circumstances. It isn’t _fair_ and Gavin has known all his life that the world isn’t kind but he’d thought that he could have just this one good thing

“You’re awake,” Fuller says, looking up from his tablet.

“Yeah, no shit,” Gavin snaps back before he can even think about the words. He jerks in the chair, testing the strength of his bonds but they’re solid. This isn’t how Gavin had ever imagined getting tied up by his soul-mate. “What the fuck?”

“I’d planned to find you when I was ready,” Fuller remarks with a vague smile. “But since you’re here now, I suppose we can move things along.”

Great. Under other circumstances Gavin would be pleased that his soul-mate was so interested in finding him, but being tied to a chair is an activity he usually prefers to reserve until after a few dates and at least a bit of negotiation; and getting hit in the head with a gun — kind of a hard limit for him.

“What kind of things?” Gavin demands. He’d prefer to be demanding not to be tied to this chair, but he suspects that would get him nowhere so it’s better to stick to useful lines of inquiry.

“Tell me, Detective, what do you remember about June 4th 3036?”

Three summers ago? And Fuller expects him to remember the details of a specific date? Fuck. The 4th doesn’t ring any bells for Gavin, no call-out gone bad or even a news story. And Gavin’s always had a good memory for names, it comes in handy on the job, and this Joanne Cartwright Fuller is so focused on doesn’t ring any bells.

Gavin takes a deep breath. Keep Fuller talking. That’s the best strategy he has. The more Fuller rambles on, the more information he gives away and the better Gavin’s chances of fixing this mess are. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“That was the day my Joanne died,” Fuller says, caressing the un-scarred name. Why on earth would Fuller care so much about his enemy? There’s something in his tone that gives Gavin a sinking feeling. He’s worked a few stalking cases over the years and Fuller sounds like a textbook obsessive, a theory that’s backed up when Fuller continues. “She texted me, said she was walking home because somebody had sideswiped her car and knocked the mirror off. But she never made it home. And I knew it had to be somebody’s fault so I started to research.”

Amateur crime research. Urgh. The only thing worse would be if he made a podcast of it. What was it with random idiots off the street thinking that all it took to do a cop’s job was an internet connection and a willingness to latch onto flimsy theories and then make up and distort the evidence to fit?

“I found the footage, saw that it was a cop car that had hit hers, so I took down the plate numbers and I searched and I searched and I found the plates in a picture of a news article, and do you know what the article was about?”

“Not a fucking clue,” Gavin says honestly, and Fuller flings the tablet across the room.

“You!” he shouts. “Detective Gavin Reed and his successful trafficking arrests! I knew, I knew that her death had be your fault,” Fuller rants, waving him arms. “That’s why god gave me your name, so that I could know your guilt and make sure you that you paid. That your corruption couldn’t save you!”

Oh. Great. Gavin’s soul-mate is a nutjob.

There are a thousand holes in his logic. Cop cars are passed around all the time, whoever busted Cartwright’s mirror could easily have taken it out and been done with it before Gavin had needed to borrow one for that bust. Hell, Gavin thinks he recalls that bust and had happened early in the morning of the 5th so it was more likely that whoever had that car for most of the day of the 4th had been the culprit — and even if he did knock some chick’s mirror off, that didn’t make him responsible for her death. Fuller hasn’t even said how she died.

But Gavin had been in a cop car that day and he had been driving fast enough through downtown, siren screaming, that he wouldn’t have noticed a clipped side-mirror or three.

He grits his teeth.

“What happened to her?” he asks, telling himself that it’s only because he wants to keep Fuller talking, not because of any creeping possibility that there might be something to the man’s words.

“A mugging, they said,” and Fuller sounds scornful. “Just some petty gangster who thought he could snatch the purse of a good girl walking home alone at night, and even though she was so sweet he shot her. He murdered my soul-mate!”

And that’s when the reason behind Fuller’s mad reaction hits Gavin. If Fuller thinks Cartwright was his soul-mate no wonder he’s worked up.

But she can’t have been. After all, Gavin is. Fuller must have made a mistake, no wonder he’s gone so fucking crazy if he’s got his soul-mate and his enemy backward and has been blaming his perceived enemy for his mis-identified soul-mate’s death. Fuck. It has to be.

After all, if Fuller is right about Cartwright that means that Gavin has been wrong about Fuller being his soul-mate, but that would mean…

Gavin shakes his head slightly, then grimaces at the pain.

No, he’s not going to let himself get dragged into Fuller’s insanity. Having this guy for a soul-mate might be a fuckin’ nightmare but Gavin can deal with this. If he can understand Fuller, maybe he can make Fuller understand what’s really happening.

“Why not blame the asshole that actually killed her? Or the perp who caused the chase in the first place? How about his boss if you really want to get into root causes?” Gavin points out. “Look, whatever happened to her, that sucks, but you could come up with ways to blame half the city that would be just as solid the threads you have pinning her to me.” What if Cartwright had parked better or taken more precautions walking home — but Gavin isn’t going to say that, his mouth runs away from him sometimes but this isn’t the moment to provoke Fuller’s anger and Gavin is absolutely certain from the way the man talks about her that any criticism of Cartwright would incense him, no matter how confused he is about her role in his life.

“Oh, I know,” Fuller says, and he might be crazy but there’s something sharp in his eyes that screams danger to Gavin. He’s only seen a few perps look like that in his career, but they’ve always been the ones who truly didn’t give a fuck about who got hurt as long as they got their way. “That’s why I’m going to make the whole city pay.”


	5. Chapter 5

It doesn’t take a genius to guess the fact that Gavin got Fuller’s details because the man was a person of interest in the bombings and his rantings about making the city pay and proving that cops can’t protect them aren’t exactly unconnected. Having a terrorist for a soul-mate is a career killer if ever Gavin’s heard of one; but Fuller being his soul-mate isn’t going to get him any leniency from Gavin. Gavin’s job is to stop crimes, including whatever it is that Fuller is planning, but to do that, he needs more information.

“The whole fucking city?” Gavin scoffs. Who does Fuller think he is? There’s no way one guy could do anything on that scale. If the city could cope with a goddamn android uprising, what did Fuller think made him so special?

“They’ll all see. Now I have you, all I have to do is find the other one,” and here Fuller scratches at Anderson’s name on his arm. “Then I can put my plans into motion and everyone will know that this city’s so-called protectors are really her destroyers.”

“What do you want with Anderson?” Gavin blurts out. He doesn’t seem to fit anywhere into the narrative Fuller has constructed to blame Gavin for Cartwright’s death — he didn’t have anything to do with the bust Gavin made or the car he might have been driving that day, back then Anderson was still so deep in mourning he was rarely even present at the precinct.

“God gave me his name along with yours,” Fuller says, unhelpfully. “The sign is clear enough.”

Fuck. Fuller doesn’t even know why he’s after Anderson and apparently doesn’t care. His obsession with Cartwright has him convinced that the names on his right wrist are his enemies, without any knowledge of them or reasoning at all behind it, and now he’s set on a path of destruction that sounds like it’s going to be heavy on the collateral damage.

Fuller reaches over to the nearby end-table and grabs something off it to hold in the air.

Gavin’s cell phone.

So Fuller’s been rummaging through his pockets. As if knocking him out and tying him to a chair wasn’t rude enough.

“How do I unlock it?” Fuller says.

“You don’t,” Gavin snaps back, instinctively.

Fuller cocks his head, glancing towards the gun thoughtfully. “Lieutenant Anderson will get what he deserves,” Fuller says, with prophetic air, “But we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

Gavin hesitates, then admits his password with a sigh. It probably won’t hurt him to play co-operative for now and while he does have Anderson’s number in there it’s saved under ‘fuckface drunk’ which isn’t going to be much use to Fuller, nestled as it is between ‘fuckin boss’ and ‘hbicchen’. And he doesn’t keep any DPD related accounts signed in on the device, they’ve all had one too many bitchings out at central when people have lost their devices and been hacked for him to take that risk.

Gavin watches Fuller’s hands, sees the way he scrolls all the way to the bottom and then back up, scowl deepening with every flick of his finger.

“Which of these idiotically named contacts is Hank Anderson?” he demands.

“I don’t have his number,” Gavin bullshits, he’s done enough that Fuller should think him at least a little pliable, but he’s not gonna give the guy shit he could actually use.

Fuller looks unimpressed.

“He’s your co-worker,” Fuller says. “You must be able to contact him.”

And that’s all he knows, Gavin realises, that they’re both DPD. He might have gone through Gavin’s pockets, but he hasn’t bothered to check his wrists.

Which means Fuller’s interest in Anderson is entirely to do with the fact his name is on Fuller’s wrist. Relaxation is out of the question given his current circumstances, but Gavin feels a slight spark of relief to know that, on that front at least, Fuller is still shooting mostly blind and so probably doesn’t share the suspicion that’s been growing within Gavin at every new revelation of Fuller’s asshattery.

Gavin could just tell him which number it is, but his gut is telling him no. Whatever Fuller wants with Anderson, it’s bound to be bad. He’s already got one cop hostage, there’s no reason to give him access to another. The less Fuller has and the less he knows the better.

“I don’t have it,” Gavin lies. “I don’t know what sort of losers you hang out with, but I have better things to do that sit around texting about work in my off time.”

Fuller snarls, flinging the phone at Gavin, sending it crashing straight into his nose. Typical. Honestly, he got hit there so often it was like criminals saw the scar as a target.

“Fine then,” he spits. “One is good enough. I can always get…” he shakes his head, settling back down into his chair and staring at Gavin. “I want to play a game, Detective Reed.”

Gavin’s stomach clenches involuntarily, hoping that the word choice is a coincidence. Fuller was suspected of meticulous bombings; some crazy Saw bullshit wouldn’t match up to that MO. “That’s a shame,” he says, shrugging as best he can while restrained. “Because, y’know, for some reason I’m not in a very fun mood.”

He can feel blood spilling from his nose, just a thin trickle but being unable to wipe it away is driving Gavin nuts and he’s struggling to think of how this situation could get worse when Fuller says, “There’s a bomb in Poletown Station.”

Because he’s not just a name on Gavin’s wrist, he’s a suspect in the most obnoxious case of the year. Fuck.

“And you’re gloating to me why?” he snarls, but he already knows. Criminal psychology had been one of his strongest classes in the academy. Fuller wants him to feel helpless, to know there’s a bomb and he can do nothing about it

“Because I want to see what you’ll do. The bomb has a timer set for an hour from now, that should be enough time to keep things interesting, but I have a backup detonator if you make trouble.”

Gavin glowers. Fuller is mocking him. What sort of trouble could he make while tied to a chair? “Fuck you.”

“I’m going to leave now.” Fuller stands and smiles at Gavin, the sort of sweet look Gavin had once hoped to get from a soul-mate, but on Fuller’s face it’s just sickening. “Maybe you’ll surprise me and save those people like you didn’t save my Joanne. But I doubt it.”

And then he walks away.

Gavin waits, straining his ears trying to work out if Fuller really has left or if he’s just waiting for Gavin’s escape attempt, but he already knows Fuller is able to move silently, that’s how he got the drop on Gavin in the first place, and Gavin doesn’t have time for mind-games. If Fuller wants to somebody to toy with then he should have picked somebody other than Gavin. Either Fuller will set off the bomb or he won’t, and Gavin isn’t naive enough to think that somebody that crazy could be influenced into doing the right thing and giving up his lunatic plan just by Gavin playing along.

It’s tricky, pushing himself back up in order to get back into a position where he can create a second impact and he can feel splinters coming off the chair and digging into him. But if there’s a chance that playing along with Fuller’s game with also give Gavin the opportunity to stop him then there’s no choice.

It takes several minutes and four attempts to break the chair, and another minute to disentangle himself from the wreckage, gaining more rope burn and splinters in the processes.

He stands, yanking up his sleeves to pull out some particularly large splinters, then pauses, staring at the now scraped up names on his wrists.

Because with every discovery in this case, Gavin’s doubts have been growing, and now there’s a bomb on the subway and a madman trying to blame Gavin for his decision to plan it there and he’d wonder what sort of fucking shitty-ass excuse for a detective he is, to have had this wrong for so long, except all the evidence did point to Anderson as his enemy. It did for so long. Anderson was an asshole.

But Fuller is a monster.

And Gavin didn’t make it this far as a detective by being too stupid or stubborn to adapt his theories when new evidence comes to light.

Anderson must be his soul-mate. A shitty one, perhaps, but Gavin always knew it wasn’t like in the movies.

If all Gavin is getting is Anderson and Fuller, then he’d better hope he’s been wrong about Anderson all along because even a soul-mate he’s spent years hating is better than a soul-mate who is actively trying to kill innocent people.

He’s got no weapon, no cell, but Poletown station is only a few blocks from here and Gavin is a cop.

He has a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally out of Fuller's apartment, that took way longer than I meant it to! Next step, getting Hank in the picture not just Gavin's thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

 The station’s not far. Without his cell to call it in Gavin’s got no back-up but the transit authority must have some way of contacting dispatch. For a moment he considers banging on one of the other apartment doors and asking to borrow a phone, but he’d rather prioritise getting to the scene and anyway the last thing he needs is somebody eavesdropping on him making the report and then sharing shit about it on the internet and causing a panic.

He drives fast, how can he not when there’s a bomb in the station and its deranged maker on the loose, but not as fast as he usually would have done. Not with the thought of Joanne Cartwright and a smashed mirror that had forced her to walk to her death still lingering in his mind. It’s not his fault, Fuller’s blame is an absurd extrapolation, but that doesn’t make it easy for Gavin to shake the thought that this could all have been avoiding.

The station is busy but Gavin manages to find room to park sloppily across two spaces, one of them a handicap bay, but if Fuller is going to blow the place up then Gavin is doing good work reducing the number of people who can get parked and walk into the danger zone.

Of course, it’ll be better if he stops the bomb before anyone gets hurt, helped by Fuller’s messed up games leading to him revealing all his plans just like that.

Or there’s something not right about this.

But he’s not going to figure it out standing outside.

Starting a panic won’t help, so he keeps to a casual jog as he enters the station and looks around for a transit officer or a station managers’ desk where he can report this shit.

This isn’t a part of town he usual comes to and he’s never been a fan of public transport so he doesn’t know the layout of the station, keeping his eyes peeled as he moves through the forecourt, past the ticket officer and the row of shops, halting when his gaze catches on a screen in a store, playing a news channel and his eyes catch on the word ‘bomb’ scrolling along the ticker.

Bomb squad has finally worked out what was so weird about the previous explosives.

It’s a proximity trigger.

Fuller’s bombs work on a proximity trigger and Gavin has just walked from his clutches right into the station Fuller has already admitted to planting a bomb in. Thank fuck he’d barely got past the entrance before seeing the news.

Then a phone rings in his pocket.

It’s not Gavin’s phone, Fuller took that and anyway he wouldn’t use the crappy default ring-tone.

Gavin’s chest seizes.

There’s only one way that phone could have gotten into his pocket.

Shit.

He needs a quiet place to take the call, if anybody overhears him talking to Fuller it could start a panic, and so he walks quickly to the unattended lost baggage desk, vaulting the counter to get far enough away from the crowd that nobody should be able to casually listen in.

“The fuck is wrong with you,” he snaps as he answers the call. “Proximity triggers?”

“You’ve seen the news then?” Fuller’s tone is gloating. “They’ve almost got it right.”

Almost? “What the fuck is your game?” Gavin snarls.

“Ah, you see I did something clever,” Fuller replies. “My bombs go off when their partner device leaves the blast area, not on entering it. And congratulations, Detective, you’re holding the trigger.”

Fuck.

The bomb is in the station somewhere and as soon as Gavin tries to get away, it will go off.

“What do you want?” he snaps, because all of this bullshit suggests that Fuller has some agenda beyond just blowing the place up — why else go to all this effort?

“I want to see what you’ll do,” Fuller says. “How does Detective Reed handle being helpless? Knowing that you can’t save these people or yourself. I want to see you acknowledge that it’s all your fault, no dodging the responsibility this time.”

Of course Fuller couldn’t just murder Gavin or blow up a station — no, it has to all be part of some messed up power game. He blames the headache Fuller has inflicted on him and the distractingly gross feeling of blood soaking into his hair from where Fuller knocked him out for the fact that it’s taken him this long to put the pieces together.

“You’re crazy,” Gavin hisses. “You think I’m going to buy into this. Why would I walk out of here now I know it’ll trigger the bomb?”

“Well, I can set it off now, if I have to,” Fuller says. “But I don’t want to. I want you to do it and everyone to know that it was you who brought them harm, just like you did to my Joanne.”

Strangely, the revelation is a relief. Gavin hasn’t fucked everything up by following Fuller’s direction and coming to the station — if he hadn’t come then Fuller would likely have just blown the place up immediately and blamed Gavin for not following directions. It might not have been his intention, but he’s bought them time.

“And what do you expect from me?” Gavin asks. “Just to wait for you to blow the place up.”

“No. You could run away, Detective Reed,” Fuller suggests. “If you’re fast you might be able to get to some cover. You were willing to let my Joanne die for personal glory, it wouldn’t surprise me too much if you were the kind of man who’d let all these people die to save yourself.”

“I—” running? Gavin doesn’t even know where the trigger point is, let alone the blast radius. And he wouldn’t. Not just to save his own skin. Not unless Fuller forced his hand. “I’m not interested in your bullshit.”

There’s a moment of silence, then a soft sigh. “That’s okay, I won’t rush you, not too much anyway, though I haven’t got all day. You can even call your DPD friends if you want,” Fuller offers. “Tell them all about how you’re going to be the one to trigger the bomb. But if I get so much as a hint the station is being evacuated, I’ll detonate right away.”

“If you’re so upset about Cartwright then why would you do that to all these people’s soul-mates?” Gavin says, he’s leaning on the one potential weakness Fuller has but he knows the appeal is weak. Fuller is insane and it’s obvious that he doesn’t care who he hurts as long as he gets his revenge. He might even consider more people suffering like he is to be a bonus.

“I’ll let you have a little time to think about what you’re about to do,” Fuller offers, and his false kindness makes Gavin’s skin crawl. “You’re going to spend the rest of your life looking at the people you’re about to kill, but I’m letting you off easy really because the rest of your life won’t be that long.”

There’s a click and the line goes dead.

Gavin stares at the phone in his hand, a bulky older model and he can see a crack where the case has been forced off, is sure that if he pulls the plastic away he’ll see whatever modifications Fuller has done to allow it to function as both a phone and a trigger.

Why would Fuller want him to be able to contact the DPD? More bragging, if only indirectly, or something to do with the fact that Anderson’s name was on Fuller’s arm too?

Playing into his plans is a dangerous game, but Gavin can’t exactly do nothing.

He taps until the phone is at the dialling screen, punching in the digits for the police direct line to dispatch, one of the few numbers he’s ever bothered to memorise.

“This is Gavin Reed, 16328, calling in an unconfirmed report—” And only unconfirmed because Fuller could be bluffing, but he doubts it. “—of suspected explosive device connected to case 23842 in the vicinity of my current location.”

There’s a pause. “I’m transferring the call to Captain Fowler.”

There a few seconds of inappropriately cheery hold music, presumably while dispatch passes on the message, then the click of the call being picked up.

“What the fuck Reed?” Fowler says. “You’re calling in from onsite at an active bombing attempt?”

“I was following up on a lead and I got a monologuer with a confession and a bigger plan,” he says, then summarises what Fuller claims to be doing. “You’re gonna want a bomb squad prepped and probably somebody assigned to situation management,” because a whole station full of people and a bomb is way above Gavin’s pay-grade and while he’s sure he could handle it he’s also way too deep in the thick of it and there are details that are probably best offloaded to somebody with a bird’s eye view.

“I don’t need you telling me how to do my job Reed,” Fowler says, as if assessing the situation and calling in an appropriate response isn’t part of Gavin’s job. “I’m dispatching a bomb squad and a swat team to cover your location and I’ll assign a team to getting everything we can on Fuller, but since this is our only link to him right now I’m gonna need you to come off the call and keep the line clear for any demands or negotiating angels.

Gavin sighs. If Fuller has done all this to screw with Gavin, he’s unlikely to be open to negotiation or setting this up as leverage — it’s revenge and he’s going to see it through. And who knows what he’s got planned for the other name on his wrist. He doesn’t seem to have constructed an elaborate conspiracy to blame Anderson for his girlfriend’s death like he has for Gavin, but he’d still seemed interested in the guy and it would be dumb to rule out the possibility of him trying some shit to get rid of Anderson at the same time the rest of his grand plan is going off. Gavin’s not sure he wants to explain the whole messy soul-mate enemy tangle to Fowler though — it’s not like it’s relevant. But if Fuller might be going after Anderson then that’s strategically important.

“Oh,” he says, faux-casual so that Fowler hopefully won’t ask too many questions. “And somebody might wanna find Anderson. He’s gonna need a heads-up.”

“Anderson isn’t on schedule today,” Fowler says. “And I pick who works this case.”

“Yeah,” Gavin says, “But I’m pretty sure that when he hears the bomber’s name is Alexis Fuller, even his lazy ass will demand in.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's Gavin out of the frying pan and into the fire. Also, I swear there will be Hank soon, I've got scenes drafted with him in it's just taking rather longer to get to them than expected.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props to the folks on the Detroit Become ~~Hankvin~~ Gank Discord server, especially Monica, for helping me with some Americanization issues I had with this chapter.

Waiting is hellish, but Gavin’s not stupid. Rushing around trying to play the hero will benefit no-one. Him rushing into the station has got him stuck and he’s not eager to dig himself deeper. He doesn’t want to wait around being helpless, but the fact is that this situation is way bigger than him and he’s sure some sort of action plan is being pulled together outside and he’ll need to work with that not risk fucking it up.

It takes five minutes of his lurking anxiously in the booth before the phone rings again, his heart leaping to his throat before settling when he sees that the incoming number is the precinct.

It’s Fowler again.

“We don’t want to block this line so we’re going to have a plainclothes officer go in and drop off a phone for you to use as a direct line to the command centre they’re pulling together,” he explains.

Gavin bites his lip. Fuller had said no evacuation, but he’s explicitly approved Gavin reaching out to the DPD and he must know that means people coming in. A full bomb squad might be pushing their luck, especially since it would only take one member of the public to recognise them to start a panic that would empty the station and surely count as breaking Fuller’s evacuation rules, but one officer in plain clothes — they can probably get away with that.

Anyway he’s learned from past wasted efforts that arguing with Fowler rarely gets him anywhere.

“Once you have it, we want you to start moving through that station and scouting out possible locations for the device,” Fowler orders. “There are analysts on our end looking at the building plans and that set up of the previous bombings, the station camera coverage is patchy so we can’t rely on the footage for observations.”

“Yes sir,” Gavin says. “Where’s the drop off?”

“We’re sending in PC Tawil with a blue backpack, it’ll be left beside the concourse fountain before Tawil boards the 13:57 northbound. Wait for that train to depart, and then collect it.”

Fowler dismisses him then to carry off the pick-up but the second seems to be moving at a crawl as Gavin waits for the allotted moment to go and pick up the dropped bag.

It’s heavier than expected when he finally gets to it, definitely containing more than a cell phone, but an innocuous looking thing, nobody seems to be paying it any mind as Gavin picks it up and carries away, considering for a moment before letting himself into the accessible bathroom that is likely his best spot for some privacy.

In the bag is not just a phone, but also a gun to replace the one Fuller took from him, and tool-kit, although Gavin assumes that’s to hand to somebody else as he can’t imagine any of the brass approving him to start messing around trying to dispose of a bomb without the proper training.

Now he’s got a line to Fuller and to the DPD, plus some equipment, but he’s not sure how any of it is going to help get him out of this mess.

He slips the gun in the holster meant for his standard issue one and is about to call the situation team to confirm he’s picked up the bag when the trigger phone rings again. This time the number isn’t one Gavin knows.

He takes the call.

“Detective Reed,” Fuller says, voice thick with disapproval. “I said you could talk to your friends at the DPD, not invite them over.”

“You said I couldn’t have the station evacuated,” Gavin corrects. “You didn’t say anything about bringing people in.”

“I’m watching you,” Fuller continues. “That little drop off was cheeky. I’ll allow it this time because I want them all to know what you’re doing and I don’t want you talking to them and blocking you from me, but don’t try anything else like that.”

Then the line clicks dead.

So, no waltzing a bomb squad in here because nothing in the original terms of Fuller’s sick little game said he couldn’t. Well, Gavin supposes that would have been too much to hope for.

He itches to investigate, but he’s stuck in the station, walking through the ticket area and looking around for anything suspicious although so far the only thing he’s seen that’s concerning is that somebody has been allowed to leave an unattended backpack somewhere so public without anybody reporting it despite the fact they’ve been campaigning about that kind of thing since Gavin was a kid. It also doesn’t bode well for narrowing down where Fuller’s put his bomb, if suspicious items left around the station are being totally ignored then the madman’s potential options just got a lot broader.

So much for ‘see something, say something’.

But since he can’t do anything useful without risking pushing Fuller over the edge, he flips out the DPD phone and calls back command to update them as to the newest limitation Fuller has imposed.

It rings, once, twice, and honestly you’d think they’d be quicker to pick up for the guy who is in the station with the bomb but after a few seconds he finally hears the sound of the line connecting.

“I got the bag,” he reports.

“We know,” Fowler says. “We’ve got eyes on the station, so once this call is over you’re going to need to come out of that bathroom so we can see you.”

“Apparently Fuller has eyes too,” Gavin says. He’d suspected as much, but he knows the confirmation is still important. “And he spotted the handover and says he wants no more of that.”

“Expected, how else could he be sure that you didn’t start evacuating people or just dump his trigger somewhere and exit without it,” Fowler says. “Now, I’ve got disposal unit three conferencing on the call, what can you tell us about the trigger?”

Gavin sighs and pulls the back casing off the phone Fuller slipped him and spends several minutes talking bomb squad through the mess of modifications that must make up the trigger, but he’s not sure how much use it is, both because he doesn’t know all the technical terms and because there’s nothing bomb squad can do as long as Fuller is threatening to detonate if anyone looking like a cop enters the station.

The whole thing is a shit show really — Fuller doesn’t want him acting suspicious, but there aren’t many places a guy can go in the station to have a discrete conversation without anybody noticing that he’s switching between two different phones like a shady motherfucker and talking about bombs.

There’s a commotion then, in the background, that causes the bomb tech leading the call to fall silent.

So obviously Gavin tries to eavesdrop.

It’s hard to pick out the voices, they must be outside the intended radius for the mike, but then Gavin hears Fuller’s name mentioned several times, followed by Anderson’s voice.

“—I have a psycho terrorist for a soul-mate—”

And that makes sense, because if Fuller has Anderson’s name, then there’s a good chance that Anderson has Fuller’s in return. And apparently he’s operating under the same misapprehension that Gavin was which makes sense, because although Gavin has accepted that his first assessment of which of the names on his wrists belonged to his enemy it’s still hard to believe that the inverse is true.

And now Hank’s been brought in, but apparently hasn’t got caught up with the situation yet.

This mess is about to get even uglier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Hank appears! Finally, lol. Next chapter I may even get around to having our boys interact.


	8. Chapter 8

 

Once bomb squad has everything they need, they pass Gavin over to Allen, who’s co-ordinating the on-site response while Fowler runs the larger operation to pin down Fuller’s current whereabouts, but Gavin finds he’s more focused on the sound of Anderson going off than he is Allen’s stubborn attempts to ignore the ranting and focus on updating Gavin on their operational status. Anyway, it doesn’t take long for Anderson to direct his complaints to the guy in charge.

“And, you, Allen, how the fuck did Reed of all people know that I’d need to be read in on Fuller?”

“I… If Fuller is your soul-mate then you _shouldn_ _’t_ be involved,” Allen says, technically correct. There’s a fucking handbook out-lining police procedure for soul-mate and enemy related conflicts of interest and a whole other one covering all the complex legal precedents and exemptions that have to be factored in if somebody’s soul-mate or enemy is in _any_ way connected to the case. “I don’t know why Reed would think it would be a good idea to tell Fowler to call you in if he knew.”

“Because I’ve got a goddamn right to know!” Anderson yells, “What I wanna know is how _he_ knew?”

“Anderson—”

“He’s not gonna listen to you,” Gavin cuts in, guessing from how much closer Allen’s voice sounds that he’s wearing a radio headset and so still listening to Gavin’s line despite the fuss Anderson is kicking up. “This’ll go a lot faster if you let me explain it to him.” This whole situation is a mess, but having to use Allen as a go-between to explain to his soul-mate that they’ve been mistaken about the enmity all along is just insult piled on top of injury.

There’s a long pause and then, “That sounds efficient.”

Gavin decides he doesn’t care if his eye-roll is seen by the surveillance team. Allen runs colder than most, his temper doesn’t flare easily and it makes him excellent at his job, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to pass off Anderson’s impending shit-fit to someone else, efficient or not.

There’s a moment of fuss as they do whatever they need to get Anderson on his own line, and then:

“Reed,” and oh, shit, he’d been shouting at Allen but Anderson addresses Gavin with terse restraint that makes Gavin’s stomach churn with the thought of just what Anderson is holding back. “How the fuck do you know about my soul-mate?”

And of course, he’s made the same error that Gavin did, but even faced with all of Fuller’s bullshit laid out on a platter instead of the drip feed of fuckery that had made clear to Gavin Fuller was an enemy, Anderson doesn’t know that Fuller bears Gavin’s name alongside his and so he hasn’t put the pieces together and realised the tangle they’re in.

Still, he should be able to mostly work it out, if he’s got Fuller’s name on one wrist and Gavin’s on the other. The idea that Gavin could still be mistaken isn’t one he’s willing to entertain; the possibilities —Fuller really is Gavin’s soul-mate and Hank’s name on his wrist is merely a one-sided enmity, or that he’s judged the relationships right but that Gavin is cursed to be the first in recorded history to have a one-sided soul-mate, are just too shitty.

Gavin always did swear he’d get proof of being the better Detective one day, but he could never have imagined it coming like this. Even now, Anderson thinks that his soul-mate is trying to blow up a station and it’s his enemy stranded with the trigger.

Gavin laughs. He can’t fucking help it.

But he should probably warn Anderson, lest he do anything incredibly stupid like go easy on Fuller because of the soul-mate thing. Anderson strikes him as just the sort of sentimental idiot who’d get sloppy over that sort of thing.

“Reed! Reed, get it together,” Anderson snaps, and Gavin realises that Anderson probably thinks he’s cracking up, panicking over the bomb, and can only laugh harder, chest seizing, and maybe he is feeling a little hysterical but not for the reasons Anderson thinks.

“Don’t you get it,” he wheezes. “Fuck, I figured this out ages ago.”

Less than an hour ago actually, but time feels like it’s been passing weirdly ever since he understood what Fuller has dragged him into — half panic-fast and half a slow crawl that leaves him with too much time to think, keeps him from being able to push aside irrelevant realisations like what Fuller’s plans imply about the presence of Anderson’s name.

He shuffles, sleeves pulling up his arms inch by awkward inch until the writing there is revealed. He isn’t sure what the security camera set-up of the station is but it must be good enough that they can read the names written on his wrists in the control room because there’s a muffled thud —the phone hitting the ground— and then Gavin has to bite back another burst of irrational laughter at the distant but incredibly clear sound of Anderson saying, “Fuck…”

Fifteen years they’ve known each other and finally they’ve found something they’re in complete agreement over. Gavin bites deep into his lip trying for fight down another burst of desperate laughter.

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line, as everybody involved in the surveillance of the station makes sense of what they see.

Allen is the first to recover, cutting in loud and clear on what must be a separate line from the device Anderson just dropped. “If this means what I think it does, then you’re definitely too connected to continue to be part of his operation,” he says firmly. “Somebody escort Lieutenant Anderson out of here.”

Anderson starts to curse, but Gavin just snorts.

“You know me as well as he does, asshole,” he points out. If anything, it could be argued Allen is closer to him because they used to hang out sometimes, back when they were both beat cops, whereas he and Anderson have never gotten along. “Good luck finding anyone in a ten-mile radius qualified to handle this shit who doesn’t have a personal opinion on me.” It’s almost a point of pride, that he’s pissed off practically every cop in the Detroit metro area, but it does mean that they’re shit out of luck when it comes to objective handling of this case — Gavin’s even managed to start shit with a fair number of their local feds. He wonders how it will shake out, the balance between cops looking after their own versus the fact that ninety-nine percent of his co-workers can’t stand him — they’re all biased, sure, but in favour of his welfare or against it?

Maybe Allen is asking himself the same question. Either way, the break in professionalism that is his quiet sigh before he says, “Fine, Anderson, you can stay,” suggests he knows just how fucked Gavin is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting somewhere :)
> 
>  
> 
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